A Different Path

Darc groaned softly as consciousness gradually began to return to him. While the temptation to continue clinging to the comforting blackness of oblivion was strong, the insistent pounding of his head and the dull ache that pulsed through his body prevented him from doing so. Exhaling sharply, the half-Drakyr attempted to make sense of his fractured thoughts; he had no recollection of where he was or how he had come to be there.

Reluctantly, Darc cracked open one bleary eye in the hope that a glance at his surroundings would enlighten him as to his whereabouts. He sighed in frustration on finding himself lying face-down on a non-descript stone floor; if he wanted to discover exactly where he was he was going to have to move, and at that moment in time he sincerely doubted whether he was capable of it.

Gritting his teeth and ignoring his better judgement, the half-deimos endeavoured to roll onto his side. The movement immediately caused blinding fireworks of pain to explode behind his eyes, forcing him to bite down hard on his lower lip in order to stop himself from crying out. Ignoring the fierce waves of nausea that washed over him, Darc swept his ruby gaze across his surroundings. He grunted in annoyance upon finding that his exertions had only afforded him a view of a darkened, stone-walled room that failed to awaken in him any memory of how he had come to be there. Closing his eyes once more, he allowed himself to roll back onto his front, his cheek coming to rest on the cold, damp ground beneath him.

However, on executing this movement Darc felt something tug familiarly at his throat and the unmistakable sound of metal scraping against stone rang through his ears. A dark wave of resignation washed over him as he realised where he was; he was lying on the floor of Geedo’s dungeon, clearly recovering from a beating he thankfully could not remember. Sighing heavily, he attempted to ignore the dull tendrils of pain that insistently tugged at his body in an effort to reclaim the comforting darkness of sleep; he had no way of knowing just how long it would be before his owner required his services again and he intended to get as much rest as he could before that time came.

As his concerted effort caused the throbbing ache that ran through him to recede and he began to drift towards unconsciousness, one sudden thought cut through his mind with the piercing clarity of a knife.

‘Geedo is dead. I killed her.’

Darc’s crimson eyes immediately snapped open as a feeling of creeping dread washed over him, all thoughts of sleep dispersing in an instant. Disregarding the painful protest of his body, the half-deimos pulled himself swiftly to his feet, his scaled hand reaching instinctively for his throat and grasping at the cold, metallic collar he found there. The sensation of coolness against his skin immediately caused chills to race the length of his spine, the familiar feeling causing his scattered memories to return to him in a sweeping rush; he had been with his recently-acquired comrades in Asheeda Forest, investigating a report of human activity. They had located a hulking metallic construction embedded amongst the trees, had instigated an engagement with a band of humans and...

‘Delma? Volk? Where the hell are you?’ Darc snarled, whipping around in an attempt to locate his missing comrades.

A quick scan of the room informed him that he was alone, his Drakyr heritage allowing him to determine the shape of his surroundings despite the oppressive darkness that permeated the place. The room was small, stone-walled and damp, leading him to suspect he was somewhere underground, yet there were no other distinguishing features from which he could glean any further information. However, as his keen gaze swept the room a second time, his eyes snagged on the shape of a door embedded in the opposite wall and, clenching his jaw determinedly, he began to move towards it.

He was still at least two feet away from the aperture before something pulled insistently at his throat, impeding any further progress. Growling fiercely, Darc’s hands once again flew to the collar encircling his neck, his fingers moving along its length until they came into contact with the heavy chain that was preventing him from approaching the doorway. A deep feeling of overwhelming fury, tinged at the edges with the brittle yet subdued sensation of panic, began to flood though the half-Drakyr as he realised that he was trapped.

When he had slain his former owner, Darc had sworn that he would never allow himself to succumb to the will of another again. He had not wrested his freedom from the hands of his enemies only to have it torn away by the humans he had come to despise. He could only guess at what his captors intended to do with him, but he would be damned before he acceded to it. He would find a way out of this place, or die trying.

Reaching automatically for the bag containing his spirit stones, Darc’s breath came out in a hiss as his hands met with empty air. Glancing down, he finally became aware that his armour and possessions were missing, eyes widening in shock as he realised the Wind Stone, his father’s memento, had been removed along with everything else.

With a roar of intense anger, Darc wrapped both hands around the chain at his neck and attempted to rip it from the wall. He could feel the insidious tendrils of desperation begin to wind themselves irrevocably through his mind as each ferocious tug brought him no closer to freeing himself.

When his hands had been rubbed raw from the intensity of his exertions yet the length of metal remained as firmly embedded in the wall as though he had never attempted to remove it, the half-Drakyr finally gave up. His vision blurry from the fierce pounding of his head and the growing sense of panic that now flooded through him, Darc turned once more to the door at the far side of the room. Snarling viciously, he moved rapidly towards it, the metal of the collar cutting sharply into his flesh as he strained against it.

‘Worthless human bastards!’ he shouted, voice thick with malice, ‘you’re nothing but cowards! Get down here and face me! Give me back the Wind Stone and let me go or I swear I’ll tear you limb from limb!’

All rational thought fled the half-Drakyr as a deluge of rage and fear engulfed him. With thoughts of the fate of his comrades and the dark imaginings of what lay in store for him spiralling through his mind, Darc continued to hurl insults and threats at his invisible enemies in the blind hope of provoking an opportunity to confront them and thereby instigate his escape. His furious outbursts only grew in intensity despite the wall of oppressive silence he was greeted with.

******

Darc had no way of knowing how much time had elapsed since he had first awoken. When his throat had eventually become too raw to continue shouting and his desperate, continued attempts to remove the chain from the wall had resulted only in his fingers becoming scraped and bloodied, the half-Drakyr had resumed his prone position on the floor. Finding himself drifting in and out of consciousness as he oscillated between anticipatory alertness and overwhelming exhaustion, the half-deimos found it impossible to determine whether hours or even days had passed.

Lying with his face pressed against the cold, stone floor, his mind distracted by the dark and somewhat delirious thoughts that currently consumed him, he failed to register the sound of the wooden door creaking conspicuously on its hinges. It was not until the distinct reverberation of footfalls on stone reached his ears that his attention was snapped back into the present moment.

Dragging himself to his feet, Darc whipped round only to find himself momentarily blinded by the harshness of the light that now poured in through the open doorway. As he began to grow accustomed to the brightness, he was able to make out the silhouette of a man standing a short distance away from him.

‘So,’ Darc intoned, his voice rough and broken after the hours he had spent shouting, his muscles tensing automatically in preparation for battle ‘you’ve finally worked up the courage to face me.’

The figure muttered something that, despite being unintelligible, somehow sounded vaguely familiar as it took a few measured steps towards him. As the human moved into focus and Darc recognised the fair-haired male who had overpowered him during their earlier engagement, he found he was no longer able to contain the coiled tension that resided within him, all pretence of calm quiescence swiftly deserting him.

Snarling, he lunged furiously towards his adversary. The man was fast, darting backwards as swiftly as though he had anticipated the half-deimos’ action. The chain snapped tight behind him, preventing Darc from advancing any further but not before he felt the satisfying sensation of his claws racking across soft human flesh. His lips curled upwards in a sneer as the other male stood clutching his wounded arm.

‘Weakling human! Get over here before...’

Darc’s words were abruptly cut off as a bolt of energy burst from the man and hit him full in the chest, sending him sprawling across the ground. Before he had a chance to collect himself, the human was upon him, his hand curling fiercely through Darc’s hair before dragging him roughly across the floor. White-hot stars of pain exploded in front of the half-deimos’ eyes as his adversary smashed his face into the wall with ferocious force, his mouth filling with the metallic tang of blood as the action was repeated.

He could not prevent himself from crying out as his arm was pulled up sharply behind his back, his body still pressed hard against the cold stone wall. The human’s breath was uncomfortably hot against his skin as he shouted something into his ear, something that for a moment seemed to solidify into a recognisable sentence before its meaning slipped away from him. When Darc failed to respond he was rewarded with a sharp jerk on his arm, bringing it into an impossible angle as another flurry of almost-intelligible words poured from the other male’s mouth.

‘Get the hell off me!’ Darc managed to choke out through gritted teeth, head spinning dangerously from the force of his multiple collisions with the wall.

This was evidently not the response the human wished to elicit as, with a roar of anger, he brutally forced the half-Drakyr away from the wall before flinging him harshly to the ground. Groaning, Darc unsteadily pulled himself onto his hands and knees, desperately attempting to gather the strength he needed to retaliate. However, as he made to drag himself to his feet his adversary advanced on him once more, kicking him hard in the stomach and causing him to crumple to the floor.

Darc just had time to draw in a ragged, gasping breath before the other male launched into him. The human continued to shout shapeless words whilst kicking him ferociously again and again, not allowing the half-Drakyr the space he needed to pull himself away. A cry of pain was wrenched from his body and reverberated through the small stone room, the sickening crack of bone filling his ears as the male’s foot connected sharply with his ribs. Giving up his futile endeavours to pull himself from the floor and fight back, the half-deimos curled in on himself in a desperate attempt to lessen the damage caused by his captor’s blows.

Just as his vision began to fade to black and the sharp intensity of the pain he was feeling started to dull, the other male finally ceased his attack. Darc’s mind was already drifting when the human yanked his head up savagely by the horn and crouched down so that his face was mere millimetres away from the Drakyr’s own. The intense hatred that burned in his adversary’s eyes was unmistakable despite his rapidly fading vision and, with his mind caught somewhere between waking and oblivion, Darc could have sworn the words the human hissed out were as clear and concrete as though they spoke the same language. Those dark words echoed coldly through his head as unconsciousness finally claimed him:

‘You’re going to die down here.’

*******

Hours later Darc awoke with a start, crimson eyes flying open as freezing water hit his body. His gaze immediately fell on the fair-haired human standing over him, one hand on his hip and the other clutching a now-empty pail. The half-Drakyr attempted to pull himself to his knees, his face contorting into a vicious snarl, but the moment he flexed his muscles in preparation for movement his entire body was overcome by a crippling agony that cut through him like a knife. The human’s blank expression quickly transmuted into a malicious sneer and Darc realised the pain he was experiencing must be clearly etched across his face.

‘What do you want from me?’ Darc spat, forcing the words out with difficulty through his bruised and swollen lips.

The other male answered him in a wave of the elaborate human language that, for all it’s strangeness, struck a chord of recognition within the half-Drakyr. As the man continued to speak, a sudden memory sprung unbidden into Darc’s mind and the reason for the faint familiarity caused by the human’s words suddenly became clear.

The memory was of his father teaching him the human language. He recalled questioning the necessity of learning a language that seemed so needlessly complicated and was used only by their enemies. His father had told him that there would come a time when deimos and humans would be able to co-exist peacefully and being able to communicate with them would be useful to him one day. Upon his father’s death and the enslavement that had quickly followed he had swiftly buried his knowledge of human speech, not wanting to give the deimos who despised him any further ammunition or to acknowledge the mixed blood that was running through his veins.

Struggling to his knees, Darc attempted to ignore the fierce waves of pain that crashed over him as he looked up at the man who had caused him these injuries. A bitter smile spread across his face as he recalled his father’s words; there could be no peaceful co-existence between humans and deimos, that much was perfectly clear to him now.

On seeing the half-deimos’ smile the human’s own expression immediately darkened and before Darc could register what was happening, his head was snapped back with the force of the blow that landed across his face. He heard the human’s shouted words despite the ringing in his ears and this time he was sure that some of them made sense to him.

Growling low in his throat, Darc glared up at his attacker defiantly whilst attempting not to shiver as the icy water the human had thrown over him began to soak into his skin. He was a deimos; the death of his owner and the others who had sought to degrade him marked the moment he had cast off the last vestiges of his hated humanity. He was not about to acknowledge any link to his human heritage, least of all by accepting the fact that he could understand their language. He swore to himself that he would make every attempt to prevent any further comprehension of the human’s words from returning to him.

Pushing these thoughts aside, Darc’s eyes narrowed in suspicion as the malign sneer returned to the other male’s face. Crouching down, his captor lifted something from the floor that the half-Drakyr had previously failed to notice. His ruby gaze moved swiftly away from the human’s visage in order to focus on what he now held in his hand. Darc’s eyes came to rest on what appeared to be a long length of braided leather attached to a handle and, snarling as he attempted to force back the vicious undulations of pain which rolled through his body, he pushed himself to his feet with the intention of ripping the object from the other male’s grasp.

He had barely taken a step towards his adversary when the man began to whirl the length of leather in a brutal arc above his head before snapping his arm forward, causing a loud crack to fill Darc’s ears as the flexible end of the whip struck him hard across the face. He bit down firmly on his lower lip to stop himself from crying out as a sensation similar to the slash of a blade cut through his already damaged flesh. Bringing his hand up to his cheek, he had time to note the warm feeling of blood flowing across his fingers before the whip came down on him again, this time cutting sharply across his exposed chest.

With a cry of rage, Darc launched himself at his opponent, attempting to ignore the ruthless explosion of red pain as the leather cut into him a third time. The human’s eyes perceptibly widened and he made to dart away from the half-deimos but was unable to evade his attack. Darc charged heavily into the other male, the force of the collision sending them both sprawling across the floor. He recovered swiftly, moving to pin his opponent down. However, the man reacted with lightning reflexes, bringing both knees to his chest and kicking out fiercely as Darc leaned over him, sending the already-weakened deimos skidding backwards across the ground.

Slowed down by the injuries he had already received, the half-Drakyr was unable to pull himself to his feet before his captor reached him. With a look as dark as thunder etched across his face, the human delivered two sharp kicks to Darc’s already damaged ribs. With his breath knocked from his body, the half-deimos found himself unable to react as his opponent rolled him forcibly onto his front. He experienced barely a moment’s reprieve before the sharp crack of the whip rang out from behind him and an intense slicing sensation burned through his back.

He desperately attempted to drag himself onto his hands and knees in order to disarm his attacker only for the human to bring his foot down harshly onto his back, sending him crashing to the floor and pinning him in place. All thoughts were immediately driven from his mind, forced out by the intensity of the ache that filled him each time the other male brought the length of leather snapping down across his skin.

The torment seemed to last an eternity before he finally heard the sound of the whip dropping to the floor. Seconds later, he felt the human’s hand wrap tightly around his neck before he was dragged roughly to his feet and slammed backwards into the wall, his head cracking fiercely against the stone behind him.

Opening eyes that were blurry with pain, Darc found himself looking into his captor’s face. The man was regarding him coldly through dark, empty eyes that caused the half-Drakyr to shudder despite himself.

‘Get your stinking human hands off me!’ Darc hissed through gritted teeth, forcing himself to meet the other male’s gaze.

The man only continued to watch him, a speculative look beginning to steal across his face. However, the look remained there for mere moments before his lip curled upwards in an unmistakable expression of disgust as he swiftly released his grip on the half-Drakyr’s neck, allowing him to drop to the ground.

Darc remained where he was, unmoving as he listened to the sound of his tormentor’s footsteps receding across the room. It was not until the illumination from the open doorway disappeared and he was left in darkness that the half-deimos finally allowed himself to look up. Ascertaining that the human had indeed gone, he glanced down at his naked torso in order to inspect the extent of the damage done to him.

His body was a mass of bruises punctuated by the bright crimson streaks of blood that continued to flow from the gashes left by the whip. Running his fingers across his ribs, the tentative application of pressure allowed him to conclude that at least two were broken. His whole body was one throbbing mass of pain, his ability to think dampened by the rush of agony which continuously spread through him. He could feel the warm wetness of blood running down his back where the whip had cut into his flesh and the waves of dizziness he was currently afflicted by lead him to think he might be concussed.

Though he had no way of knowing just how long he had been there, he suspected it had been at least two days since he had first awoke to find himself in the stone room. He felt weak from hunger, thirst and the beatings he had taken and now violent shivers were beginning to rack his body thanks to the dousing he had received. He had no idea where his comrades were or even if they were still alive and was beginning to doubt whether he was capable of escaping given his current condition. With this bleak assessment of his situation running through his mind, Darc allowed his aching head to drop down into his hands as the dark waves of despair he had been attempting to hold back began to course ruthlessly through him.